Confiar

In Spanish, Confiar means “to confide in” and “to rely on.” And for me, the two really are the same. It isn’t possible to separate them. As I started to confide in my blog, I relied on it. I’m embarrassed that I care about the occasional comment. The mere fact that occasionally people write is a form of acceptance. And as I started to confide in John, that was far, far more. It was an embrace and a dance.

If there are any long-time readers, you can save yourself some time by just remembering the blog from a little over a year ago. This is three moments from the last day (my internet is out, and oh, is this a difficult time for my internet to be out!) It is less intense this time, but in a way more devastating, because, well it was much more of me and there was just about nothing left of my public persona. I completely misunderstood John. I thought he was seriously considering us. I thought he thought that I was someone he wanted to play ‘for keeps’ with. And he does want to want to, but he doesn’t want to, if that makes sense. Intellectually, I’m what he wants, but something isn’t right. He likes hanging out and he’s open to keeping a finger in the wind, to see if it changes. He said: “All the ingredients are there. I don’t understand why it’s not soup.” I was everything he told himself he wanted. But it wasn’t enough.

And that is one of the most devastating things anyone has ever said. I know John would say this is absolutely not what he means. But to me, what it says is: “Wow--you are right. I totally thought you were wrong, but having taken the time to get to really know all of you--I can’t love you.” I believe he would say, "I want to give it time to see if something changes.” And if (when) it doesn’t work I expect he would say: “it isn’t you--it’s just us. You’re actually pretty amazing.”

I still think, though, if John and I were physically intimate, it would gel. I do believe that is the missing ingredient--the cornstarch if you will. But he doesn’t, and he isn’t willing to try and see. And I do appreciate that he doesn’t want to hurt me (as if that were possible, but still--he could hurt me more). He can’t be physically intimate with me, unless he knows we’ll work, and I don’t believe we can know that unless we’re physically intimate. He thinks time might solve it. I think sex probably would.

But it isn’t time I’m scared to give. I feel like, with him, I was a butterfly, living on the end of a pin in a display case. Leaving means ripping part of my soul out from under that pin. Staying means confirming my worst fear about myself. It means trading the possibility for a soul mate for a good friendship.

I regret little. I had to try and see if things would work, or I wouldn’t be able to let go of John (not that I know how I'd do that right now) and I’d have massive regrets at being scared to try. I can’t regret not playing games because the authenticity of our friendship is what brought it value. I do regret that I couldn’t be the person he saw on that first date, the only time he has referred to me as his girlfriend. But, re-reading our correspondence, I really couldn’t. We met because he really wanted to explore S&M and there were several things he said that would freak me out if he said them today. I do believe I was right then even if I wish I were different.

I think, and I don’t think it is just me reacting in pain, I think I can’t do this anymore. I can’t want something that I’m obviously never going to have. And I don’t mean “John.” I mean a life-partner. Did you ever see that Judy Dench movie where she plays an old spinster school teacher, and talked about the aching loneliness of not being touched for decades? Maybe she would be happier if she hadn’t hoped for something more. Maybe it is the act of wanting more that makes the pain so much greater. There’s one man I promised a month ago I’d go out with when he gets back from Japan in a couple of weeks. And then, I think, that’s it. No more dating for me. I’m too tired and too broken. Of course, if I meet someone in a bookstore, and we’re both reading the same thing and start a conversation and magic happens, I’ll be open. But I don’t believe in magic.
I can’t be satisfied with someone like my ex. I just can’t. Even if he had been kinder in bed, it wouldn’t have worked. I need someone care about me, to want to plumb the depths of introspection, to be truly, vitally, alive. Or I can’t be with him. It might work for a year. But not for a life. And so maybe, I need to just let go of that dream. To know that it doesn’t happen to people like me. Our society is too fucked up. A fraction of a single percent of men would explore the introspection that is far more vital to me than I care to admit. Maybe I just need to hire a shrink and a masseuse. Pay someone to care about my feelings and someone to touch me, and to find other things in my life to focus on. Get a dog. Dogs always love.

My astrologist (yes, I go to an astrologist once a year, and he’s great and it is very helpful) said that the great love of my life appears in 2011. Now, I’ve never really believed in astrology for dates, as much as “you tend to gravitate towards this.” But it certainly seems it is not happening in the near future. It would be nice to know that I do get to have a great love in my life. But if I want a family, that’s too late. I don’t need a family. But I can’t live with my life on hold for 3 years, hoping an astrologist is right.

“It’s just not fair!” screams the 8-year old. “What did you expect?” snorts the teenager; “Life’s a bitch.” “No, it is the patriarchal system that objectifies women and makes it impossible to have a joining of equals” shouts the 20-something feminist. “John is a good man, destroyed. He had no problem dating women he didn’t view as equals, or even calling you his ‘girlfriend’ before he knew you well enough to know who you were. But the patriarchy has destroyed the chance for men to love equals. There’s nothing wrong with you. It is the system.” But the nearly 40-year-old woman says: “I don’t care if it is the system or me; I can’t change the system and the end result is the same. I’m unlovable.”

Women like me, women who don’t fit in, who buck social trends, who are too smart for their own good and don’t fit societal beauty norms, who demand authenticity, and who could never respect a man she manipulated by adhering to “The Rules,” we have to find another way. In today’s society, most men want someone cute who doesn’t challenge them. I know the games women are supposed to play. I just harbored hopes that it wasn’t actually necessary. That an exceptional man would embrace the chance for something more. Not just intellectually--viscerally.

The women John has dated (funny enough, the names I know all start with “J”s)--the J-Girls have one major thing in common: they were damsels in distress whom he saved. When he realized they were using him, he was deeply hurt. He wanted someone to love him for him, and not for his money. He doesn’t like his pattern, and he recognizes it. But recognizing it isn’t enough to change it.

And I’m not only not a damsel in distress, I also didn’t play hard to get. I looked at him and said “wow--one in a million. Wow.” And I let him know it. I kept dating other men--mostly because I thought I had to. I thought if I didn’t, I’d get clingy and it would destroy our chance. But they became less frequent because I knew I couldn’t bond with someone else if John were in my life and I felt like I was using them.

My ex and I both compromised and said “Sure--it’s as close to soup as we’ll get.” And that’s a disaster. John is right to demand authenticity.

I hope like hell Maslow (as in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs) is wrong and I can develop self-actualization without love. The twenty-something feminist would say that Maslow is only reinscribing the patriarchal obligations. But I’m scared Maslow’s right. I’ve never been able to do it. But to hope, and to wait for, is just too painful. I’d rather be wistful than bitter.

Revisiting the Past

For some reason, I thought re-reading some of John's and my early correspondence was a good thing to do between Bridge, turkey and presents on Christmas day. I read the first two and a half weeks worth. That may not sound like much, but it is probably around (or over) 300 messages and is almost 100 pages, single spaced (in Word with 10 point font). Now, a page of that is some photos, and 2 pages are error messages, that happened at the most crazy-making time. I'd forgotten about those delivery delays. But mostly it is the two of us struggling to make sense, connection, and demand our own integrities as each of us experienced a searing (I believe) challenge. There are moments where I seem to be fighting for my sense of self, and wish like hell I didn't feel compelled to.

I think I was more into John than he was into me. He saw me as an interesting possibility, but one of many. If I couldn't meet his needs, he would look elsewhere--as he had to. This was a new world for him, and he needed to explore. I, on the other hand, had had my fill of that world and needed a reason to stay and trust in that world again. I knew there were no other possibilities (at least at that moment in that world). And I can't believe someone like John exists--so I compromised in ways that wouldn't necessarily have set us up well.

Reading it had a fraction of the charge that living it did. But it still made me weak in the knees and wet (several times) and sad and hopefully and excited.

The degree that we instantly recognized the other amazes me. By that, I think we saw in the other a true counterpart, with mutually simpatico intelligence, integrity and passions. We are amazingly trusting from the get go. I'm much less trusting of strangers on-line now that I used to be. I keep men at arms distance until they prove that I can trust them. Even my first name, or my phone number--I never give those out any more.

At first, I did not make it clear my fear of pain, and then I did, perhaps too much so. Or I let that define too much. I let the public persona define what is also true for the private gal. But I also don't think I made horrible mistakes. I clung to what I knew to be true--perhaps too much so. But, even knowing what I know now, I don't know how I could have been different and also been honest.

My fear and trepidation drove him crazy! Just crazy. And it has often driven me crazy. If I could wish away my fear, I would have long ago. I'm sure this blog would not exist without my angst.

I wish I had some profound conclusion. I don't. It seems like John and I have a depth that is amazing, and sooner or later, I'll do things that will drive him crazy. And, in my over-reacting to his frustration, I'll feel insecure, which may very well drive him more crazy. But I also see a willingness to sink in depth, explore and a joy in the other. I hope we can work through those better the next time.

My inner freak

I was a freak when I was a kid. A total freak. And I knew it. I knew how much the other kids despised me, and while I developed multiple coping mechanisms, one came to define me. I can’t explain what it was, because if you know that fact about me, I’m pretty easy to pin down. But suffice to say that I made a career out of a coping mechanism (cm).

I also developed a fabulous inner-life connected to my CM. And sometimes the girl there is more real to me than my socially acceptable persona. But almost know one knows her. I hid her, for her own good of course, and let her come out to play occasionally armored only in the language of post-modern literary theory. She is safe hidden in the obtuse deconstructions because no one knows she is there, so no one can hurt her, hidden safely in nuances and obfuscations.

But there is one place she can come out to play, for real. And that is a place I am a completely different person. I’m a diva, popular, confident. And pretty. In that one little corner, I have star power. And palpable joy.

My best friend comes with me. She doesn’t understand why I love being there so much, but she loves being with that part of me. And she brags about me, because she thinks I’m worth bragging about there.

I always tried to get my ex to come with me. Tried and tried and tried. But he never would. He never understood that maybe, just maybe, if you love someone, you might give them an evening. Finally he came once, after everything was over, and made such a huge deal of it that my inner-diva couldn’t come out and play.

And today, he mentioned casually, that he did something comparable with another girl. On their second date. Not a big deal, just because she wanted to. And he devastated me. I felt so worthless. We lived together for a year, and he would never do that with me. Had no interest in getting to know that side of me. No interest in my inner-life at all. I was a buddy, whom he could fuck. But not like he’d ever want to know what made my eyes light with joy. Not like he cared about me at all. I know he’d say I’m over-reacting, and I suppose I am.

But I feel like such a reject. Like someone that no one will ever love. And I’ll die alone. With my blog and my cats and a shrink I pay $150 an hour to pretend to care.

Meta-blogging

Very interesting article in the NY Times Sunday magazine this coming week, about blogging about your personal life. The author and I are very different in several ways, most notably that her blog was very well read and she was not anonymous. And so of course, those differences lead to other differences.

I no longer had the luxury of writing something and imagining that the only people who might read it would be a handful of funny, supportive friends.

I do have that luxury. I expect maybe 4 people read this blog, if that much, and I assume you are all in my corner, a little. Or at least, I assume you (if any 'yous' exist) mean me no harm. There are no nasty comments on this blog--no one has ever left one. "Attention is my drug," one of the characters in the story confessed. And I get no attention from here--so I don't do it for that reason (although that comment someone left a month ago or so touched me deeply). But I crave the clarity that I sometimes get from exploring a topic.

I had been getting up each morning at 7 a.m., my thoughts jostling in my head, eager to escape.

I'm not a morning person, but that sense of allowing an idea to escape, not just escape, blossom, is a strong compulsion. Somehow, I believe if I can truly understand what makes me feel something, than I can accept it and live peacefully with it. I think for me, this is a sort of therapy. And I'm pulled here when I'm feeling something I can't explain.

The will to blog is a complicated thing, somewhere between inspiration and compulsion. It can feel almost like a biological impulse. You see something, or an idea occurs to you, and you have to share it with the Internet as soon as possible.

For me, it is not so much the sharing as the exploring, but I'm more likely to explore an idea if I put it here, if I think I can tease out the underlying issues, but I crave the idea that I'm not alone in struggling with these issues and that someday, someone out there will say "yes--that's how I feel too." I also believe that women my age have been dealt a very difficult hand and by discussing those contradictory pulls on our lives we can, hopefully, treat ourselves with a little more love. And knowing we're not alone, helps give permission to accept.

I was in the 6th or 7th grade when I snuck into my first "R" rated movie--Fame. And the scene when the Irene Cara took off her shirt--it was so important, because it was the only time I saw a woman who had breasts like mine. I didn't have real nipples till I was older, and I always thought there was something wrong with my breasts. Seeing her's were just like mine made me feel much better about my own. I hope that exploring my neuroses on the little screen can, maybe, help have the same impact.

But there are some similarities.

I’d been clinging to [him] for months in spite of our differences because, in addition to the comfort and stability he gave me, he was my sounding board — someone with whom I could share my unfiltered thoughts, without worrying about being entertaining. In his absence, I was becoming more and more open on Gawker.

I miss John because of the same reason. I don't even know if I miss John, or I miss the idea of John. Do I miss the "John" of the 700 e-mails or the guy who's name isn't John that I can spend 8 hours with and wish for 8 more. Or do I miss the guy who's name really is John that cherished my self-analysis even if he didn't partake? Where does "John" end and John begin? Do I really even know "John?" They were powerful glimpses. I loved knowing him. But did I really?

I've got a date with one of the guys I went out with last week on Friday. He is taking me ballroom dancing. Just about the best date I could ask for from anyone. He is a sweet man, and he seems to like me. But there isn't that restless search for clarity, or that self-awareness. He isn't tantalized by words. Maybe somehow we would start that dance of the 7 veils of self-disclosure, but I don't see how we'd begin. There are no hints that we could go there. The NY Times gal writes:

I wanted him to know everything there was to know about me.

Yes, exactly. But I don't just want a mythical him to know everything about me. I want him to embrace and accept and cherish and adore. Even my horrible sides. The idea that someone could know my most private details. And still say "OK. You're worth it. I'll take the good with the bad."

The Republican wanted to see me naked, physically. And I can name every single one of my physical flaws. If I had done it, it would have made me feel incredibly vulnerable because would he be rejecting me because my stomach isn't flat, or my scar or the stretch marks on my breasts? And if he had looked at me and said "yeah--you're good enough for me" it would have bound me emotionally to him. It really would have. He never would have been enough for me, but it would still have glued me to him for a while. But that physical vulnerability and sharing is nothing compared to the emotional. Lot's of women have stretch marks. They even sell different things for dealing with them. And intellectually, I believe lots of women have the psychic stretch marks from feminism and yearning for acceptance and MTV and high-school popularity contests and being mocked and believing ourselves to be unlovable, if only for a brief, fleeting moment, and all the things that defined us. But it lives in the shadows. Unknown and unembraced. Maybe it is too much to ask to share that with a romantic partner. I don't know.

Oh, A Republican!?

A Republican? An unrepentant, defiant Republican? Not only will he vote for McCain in November, not only did he vote for Bush in 2000 and again in 2004, knowing what he knows now, he would do the same thing!

I mean, this floors me. I do not have a single Republican friend. I had one. I worked damn hard to be open-minded enough to have one, but I did have one. Of course, by 2004, she volunteered with me for Kerry and has since decided, as a Christian, that global warming is a bigger issue than abortion and is 100% for Obama. My other Republican friend was gay, and he died, so I'm not really sure, but I'm 98% sure he switched to the Dems by 2004.

I think of this as a moral failing. I actually call mosquitoes "Republicans," because they are blood-sucking parasites that spread disease, don't care how their behavior impacts others, as long as they get what they want, and the world would be better off without them. I know some people could argue this is a form of 'hate speech' and that I'm depersonalizing them the way the Nazis treated the Jews. But I think Bill Reilly's is an idiot, so I don't really care. The analogy works.

And yet, I have to say, the evening started off with me unsure and having trouble making eye contact and young, and wanting to please. And then politics came in. And I had no doubt, no difficulty making eye contact. We argued like hell. We were both witty, quick and sharp. And it was actually rather hot. And he enjoyed it as much as I did, although I think he liked definitely pushing my buttons. And he made it damn clear that he would support me 100% in my activism, even as he'd cancel my vote in November.

He thinks my ex abused me, and there is a little truth to that. Not a lot. I agreed to everything that happened. But much of what happened wasn't healthy for me. And it has left me scared and fearful when certain boundaries are pushed. I was surprised how quickly the Republican pushed some boundaries. And he wasn't great about it when he pushed them--left me to deal with that on my own, which I don't like.

The chasm between the two of me is SO great, I question whether anyone could actually appreciate both of me. And he SO enjoyed the smart, engaged, sharp, witty public woman, and he effortless called out the little girl. This man, this Republican, he seems to! When I told him (because it came up in conversation) that I would not have an abortion if we got pregnant, and he said "that means you could have 25% of my paycheck" and I said "that's why you have a right to know I've already made that choice for me--the law isn't fair to men in some ways, and if it is a dealbreaker for you I understand, but I'm not changing my mind on that; but I do believe in using 2 forms of birthcontrol" he asked "how the hell are you not married?" I can't tell you how many Democrats I've scared off with that statement. Actually I can. Three, I believe. It didn't scare him off. He appreciated the head's up. So who knows. But, he's a Republican!

Just Words?

A debate between Obama and Hillary has centered on language. How important is language? Can it shape reality? Can we justify ourselves only with language? How important are deeds? I find different parts of me drawn to each side of the argument. (Of course, another side would just like to follow John McCain's lead and jump in bed with a cute young lobbyist --Joke--it was a joke--I don't think he slept with her--just traded influence for flirtation).

Part of me completely identifies with Hillary. I often don't believe, in my bones, that I'm lovable the way I am. I truly believe I need to prove myself, work hard, be smart and accomplish things. And, to a certain extent, that works really well. I'm quite thoughtful, taking wonderful care of the people I love. But there are times it isn't reciprocated, in part because I often give more than I should, and I can grow resentful. But I totally understand the woman saying "look--I've done everything you could have asked of me. Isn't that enough?"

A great part of me wants to just be loved for who I am, not want I do. But I don't know how that world works. I'm used to earning recognition, not having it handed to me.

Meanwhile, words. Words are SO important to me. This blog is part of that. If I can just figure out what I'm feeling, with words of course, then I'll be able to control it better, or create better conditions for it.

And, if I can just correctly describe myself, then, maybe, the pieces will fall into place. Either some man will see his counterpart in me, or he'll have the keys to actually claim me. Most men can't claim me--Public Woman is just too strong for most men to actually trust that private girl is there too. This week I carefully recrafted my personal, with help from a lovely gentleman on the other coast. Words do bring me hope.

How do you make a DQ (tm) blizzard?

So I have a vanilla date tomorrow night. (This is from PerfectMatch.com, which I can definitively say isn't worth the money--$100 for 4 months and the only man worth e-mailing isn't listed as a 'perfect match' and lives 100 miles away, but he's willing to drive in, so we'll do coffee. There are 4 men listed as a 'perfect match' for me after 2 weeks, and 2 of them are over 50! And one looked like he sent his picture for American Gladiator--I'm not much into pictures generally, but pictures where men are nakes or look angry seem like major warning signs to me.)

And the question becomes--how the hell do you make a blizzard? I love Blizzards (although I don't allow myself to have them more than once a year). You start with vanilla icecream, and then you add snickers (it has to be snickers--all the chocolate and caramel and peanuts, and the caramel freezes and gets a little crunchy and sticks to your teeth--yummy!).

DQ's vanilla ice-cream is just bland. Boring! And it would be too sweet by itself. It needs something to set off all that vanilla sticky, sweetness, boring. But do you ask the vanilla if it is OK to add something in? Does the vanilla say "ooh--snickers, come join me?" What if the vanilla wants more, but gets scared to ask. Or looks at all that vanilla and assumes ice-cream only comes in vanilla?

And the snickers--what if the vanilla rejects it? It is scary to be in little pieces, with one part of your self over there and another part over here, and how can you feel whole when you keep cutting yourself into smaller and smaller and smaller pieces. You already feel like a freak, what with your wrapper off and all--you have to take your wrapper off before you have a chance to merge with the vanilla, but how do you find out if the vanilla is interested? The advantage of only hanging out with snickers if you can leave your wrapper on till you crawl into the the other snicker's wrapper. But with vanilla, you can do that! Can you just open the end of the wrapper, and pop out a bit? And what if the vanilla is busy looking at the TV and doesn't realize you've popped out of your wrapper for a bit? Or clueless? Or horrified? (My current eharmony profile, under "stuff only my best friends know" says "I'm kinda kinky." I say it with a little more poetry than that, but I changed it yesterday to say it flat out instead of with hints. Today I had more men 'close' communication with me than I'd typically have in a week! But if that freaks them out, clearly it would have been a waste of time!)

And then, if the vanilla says "oh, yes--I've always wanted snickers," or, more likely "hell--a pretty cute, smart, funny chick that's interested in sex, will do anything I want if I just take charge? Sure, why the hell not? She's got nice tits!" (I've worked fast food--you'd be shocked what the food says when it thinks no one is looking)--but what if the vanilla doesn't really know how to get the snickers out of the wrapper, does the snickers instruct the vanilla on how to take charge?

And another thing--how long should the snickers flirt with the vanilla until she starts to take off her wrapper? How many vanillas will look at her and say "oh, no way!--Skittles, maybe, or Starburst? Even Nerds, but no way in hell can I handle chocolate! And caramel! And Peanuts!!! NO!!!!" And how much time does the snickers want to waste on the vanilla if he's just going to hate the way the caramel freezes up and sticks to your teeth anyway? Especially if the vanilla lives 2 hours away?

So it is all very confusing.

And yet.... We as a country, maybe as a "Western Civilization," well we seem to suck at navigating gender issues. 150 years ago we all of a sudden said "women--you are no longer property. You now get to have some modicum of self." Jane Austen said "cool--how does this work?" And the Brontes said "this is how it might work." And Tolstoy said "this is how it isn't working." And Ibsen said "but this is what happened under the old way." And Strindberg said "this is why this is scary!" And DH Lawrence said "this is why it would be worth it to make it work."

And then something bizarre happened: we stopped talking about it! We said "poof--men and women are equals! Nothing more to talk about." And it is scary to talk about issues of gender (or race or religion) because people get touchy and get hurt or angry. So we just don't talk about it.

So, part of the reason I write this is because I think we need more honest dialogue. I don't have much hope to learn how to make a blizzard tomorrow. But maybe, just maybe, this process will teach me a little more about how to figure it out.

Trivialities: Consolation Prizes

I've started a new labeling system. Sometimes I come up with posts that I think are more interesting. I've tried to avoid posting just a bunch of little details. For example the last post--"Public Persona v. Private Self"--is, I think, worth reading by anyone interested in my private life, and hopefully I'm not the only one struggling with such issues. This one is not. Just a bunch of random details. To save you time, I'm adding a "trivialities" label to this and future posts that fall in that category.

Yesterday I stayed strong and said "no." Over and over.

First the young'un very clearly wanted me to get involved with him again. And the kid has NO social skills. I had agreed to see him mostly because when I had difficulty with my career making me unhappy, the universe sent me 2 wonderful people that helped me a great deal. Quitting my prestigious job was the most difficult decision I've ever made, and the best one. So, while I don't feel like I 'owe' the young'un anything, I do feel like I need to give back some of the support I received. But it won't be to him.

The entire evening was about 'would I go out with him again--even if just as a friend.' The kid remembered that my roommate will move out this summer and tried to get me to let him move in with me! After at least 10 questions about 'would I come over to his place,' 'how much he missed talking with me,' etc. etc. etc.

The young'un has two and only two reasons for thinking he is in love with me. The first is that I'm smart and engaged, so we can talk about a whole host of things. My problem, is that it never goes beyond surface knowledge. It is 'Trivial Pursuit,' not anything with wisdom or how it affects the world. In fact, I find it rather boring.

The second reason is that I'm the only woman he has dated who, instead of seeing dollars signs and thinking "wow--I can live off him," saw that he was unhappy and encouraged him to cut back on his expenses and find a job that he loved thought it would pay less.

I spose in his mind those are important issues. But he doesn't know a thing about me. He has no clue as to my 'public-private' sides, or frankly anything about me because he never asks a question beyond where I'd like to go for dinner. He could never dominate me (and we met on CollarMe, so it isn't like he doesn't know what I'm looking for). I would define every single aspect of the relationship. Whatever I wanted, I would get, instantly. Except all the intangibles that I really wanted. In all honesty, if I hadn't broken up with him in November, he'd probably be shopping for a ring for Valentines Day. But he would never have kissed me. Never ask about how my life went, or understand me.

Meanwhile, my ex called. Again. This time to discuss Romney's dropping out, and could we get a fiscal conservative to run on a third party to siphon off votes from McCain, and agree that Ron Paul would be ideal in that respect. Oh, and did I want to come to him birthday brunch with his kids and dad? His current fuckbuddy is encouraging him to try and get me back. And I said, in a very straight-forward manner, that we weren't good for each other. I didn't want to lead him on, but we weren't good for each other.

He said all sorts of very nice things, like he has never missed anyone the way he misses me. He doesn't understand it, but he misses me. And the fact that we were able to share that 400 sq. ft. apartment for a year is testament to how good we are together. And he wasn't able to make me happy at the time, but.....

Meanwhile, his current ad on CM says that his sub needs to make all her actions based on meeting his needs and pleasing him. Reward would be the pleasure that comes from knowing she has pleased (and the unspoken issue is that is just about the only benefit she will get from the relationship--oooh, sign me up!). He said to me, when I mentioned that it is indicative of how different we are, that he wants someone mentally healthy, and he just really, really misses me.

Neither the young'un or the ex tempt me. I suppose if either did, they'd have actual names here. But not being alone tempts me a little. Not enough to give up what I seek. I do believe, however, that it is a good sign. It is the universe testing me, asking "are you sure?" And generally, when the universe tempts me with a consolation prize and I stay strong, what I'm actually looking for is far more likely to appear in my life. Not today or tomorrow or next week, but someday. Consolation prizes are just a way of letting you know you are on the right track. Reject them and it gives space in your life for the good stuff. Accept them, and you have no room in your life for what you really want!

Wow!

So, Steven and I seem to have come to an understanding, which is that I will continue to see other people (as will he), and we both love each other and want to be with each other right now. I seriously doubt I could sleep with someone else at the same time that Steven and I are involved. And he knows I would want to peruse the possibility of finding a soul mate, when such a thing becomes possible. (We talked really openly about this. Plus, he knows this URL. It amazes me I'm comfy with him reading what I'm thinking and he seems to be comfy with the fact that I have the blog. I have a sneaking suspicioun he wouldn’t find this blog boring—I’m always intrigued when someone writes about me—Hi Steven!). So we’ll let the future take care of itself in whatever way it does. But in this moment, here and now, Wow!

We spent most of Saturday in bed, or around the bed, or backed against the wall, or, well, you get the point. And this hosting site doesn’t allow ‘obscenity.’ But wow! Who knew all of this could be, actually, fun?

Steven used several things on me that I would have thought I couldn’t handle. Especially a riding crop and a TENS (that is some sort of electrical thing) unit. At 30% that was delightful. At 70% it was odd and close to something that might be defined at pain. Really intense but not misery creating. It fell into that transitional place that is difficult to define.

Originally, he had me standing, and that brought out all my fears. All the things I hate about wiitwd and being that way. He was SO sweet. He undressed me that way I love—carefully unwrapping me, like a present. Telling me I wasn’t supposed to help. Kissing every square inch of my body. But when he flogged my legs and butt, very lightly I just got so tense. I wasn’t there anymore. I was enduring for my ex. Then he started flogging my shoulders and I just relaxed. Softening into his presence, I could unwind and let go of what has happened. And I actually enjoyed it. Later, he had me tied, spread-eagle, to the bed, and I just wanted more and more and more and more. I handled everything—even the pointy end of the TENS unit running all over. I wanted him to devour me.

It made me realize how much my relationship with my ex wasn’t healthy for me. I won’t say it was ‘abusive’ because he would have stopped if I said so. I was a full and consenting party, and I accept responsibility for that. But I really grew to dread everything except snuggling.

Now, I should say, my ex gave me several wonderful gifts—most especially the self-esteem to finally leave him. He continually built me up as a human being, even if I felt torn down as a submissive. For the most part, he thought I was beautiful (if a little plumper than he’d like, and he wanted me to dress in less conservative, more revealing, sexier clothing). More importantly, he relished in my mind. Instead of hiding my mind, feeling like it was something someone would overlook if I was lucky, he taught me how much fun it could be.

But, we were not well matched in the erotic world, and I think we both knew it from the beginning. From the start, we agreed that I would compromise by not having many limits in the bedroom and he would compromise by not demanding obedience outside the bedroom. I was OK with that because it didn't feel like I was denying my erotic self and we clicked on a vanilla level.

The biggest problem, for me, is that he liked me scared. And he was angry whenever he moved towards sexual relations. This made me feel like I'd done something wrong--I wasn't good enough the way I was. And he managed to make me scared, which I don't enjoy. The more scared I was, the more turned on he was. (There were other problems too—most especially his belief that I shouldn’t have any sexual needs and that all my needs should be met by the pleasure of pleasing him--I’m just not wired that way. While he finally came to accept that I just got bitchy if I wasn’t having regular orgasms, he always treated that like a chore that I was allowed to handle after I’d done the important stuff of pleasing him, when he was groggy and didn’t really care anyway. I’m not quite sure why I put up with it for as long as I did, but that’s another issue.)

Anyhoo—I used to act. I’m actually pretty good at it. I even got a couple of leads in local theatre productions. Stanislavski--all the way. It wasn’t an attempt to manipulate things on my part (although it may have had a similar effect) but, I couldn’t ‘act’ scared. I could just be scared. It is hard to explain, but every time something happens, I have a choice as to how I respond--do I take the red pill or the blue pill? The blue pill is simple--I focus on the present moment. I take a slow breath in and out, focus on my breathing, listen to my heart beat, and know that I’m OK and I’ll be OK. The red pill is different. I don’t focus on my breathing. Instead, I focus on my helplessness. My inability to make the situation different. I breathe too fast and lose control. And I get scared. And as soon as I start there, I get more scared.

By a certain point with the ex, I was having panic attacks a couple of times a week. It was actually a routine that grew to work for both of us--he’d get off on my panic attack, then he’d comfort me and I'd love the comforting. The problem was, a panic attack leaves a chemical residue in my body, where I feel more helpless and jittery until I’ve had a good night’s sleep and it did something weird to my self-concept, so going to that place on a regular basis, it made me even more susceptible to it.

Sex with my ex was like a bad fight with my folks. I hated it. I really did. But it was home. Not everyone likes their home. I’d put up with bad vanilla sex my whole life--it wasn’t worse than that because at least it was honest, and I was home. It was the way the world was supposed to be, right? I just drew a bad hand, and this is what a relationship looks like if you are in the kinky world. I’m finally learning, that is what a bad relationship looks like in the kinky world, but it has left traces on my soul and scripts in my head that I don’t want to replay for the rest of my life. Steven actually talked with me about it (in part, because he knows my secrets--he knows my fears and he is so lovely with them), and I think he will help me let go of those scripts. Who knew all this could be fun too?

Scared of rejecting? Worthy of more?

I had dinner with my ex tonight. Barbecue. I hate barbecue, and he knows it. The only 'vegetable,' aside from deep fried onions and french fries, was creamed spinach, which I believe had more fat than spinach. But he doesn't even think about finding a place we might both like. His brain just doesn't work that way. It never did.

While we broke up in June, we continued sleeping together as long as we were living together, which was all summer long. Once he moved out, I didn't sleep with him again, but he has hinted numerous times.

Tonight, he asked if I wanted to come over "and watch the debates." We both know if we were alone together, I'd probably end up sleeping with him. I'm just not good at saying 'no' when someone has me shoved against a wall, with his hand in my hair, pulling my chin up and exposing my neck while he kisses it hard. I get in the submissive mode and I don't say "no" even if it doesn't make sense. So I have to be really good about not getting myself into that situation.

So, after a look that acknowledged we both knew it wasn't just the debate, I said I couldn't go there--I can't separate sex from wanting a commitment, future, all that. That has been my playful line to all his advances since we broke up. It let's me reject his advances without rejecting him. But tonight he said "I can't make promises. I don't know. But I've been thinking a lot about you. I really miss you. It wouldn't just be for sex." And, to put his money where his mouth is, he has quit both poker and smoking. Which was the source of most of my angst at the time.

Whoa......

My ex broke up with me. Via e-mail. While I was in China. But the only reason he broke up with me is that I never sent the dozen e-mails I wrote, breaking up with because I thought it should be done in person. I never told him that.

The truth is, I was devastated when he broke up with me, but also relieved. My heart broke, but half an hour before I got the e-mail I had been singing "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" to try and steel myself for what I knew I had to do.

I'm not the rejector--I'm the rejectee! Who the hell am I to tell someone "No--I don't want to spend time with you." I don't do that! I should be grateful that anyone would want to spend time with me and take what I can get.

I have this weird thing about self-esteem. The top layer is quite strong. But dig just a tiny bit and it is very, very weak. What I'm learning is that under that, there is a strong layer, of which I wasn't aware. Or maybe, it is just growing.

I would not only never go back to my ex, if I met him today, I wouldn't consider him. My sense of self has grown exponentially since we broke up. I was SO terrified that I would be alone for the rest of my life. No man would every want me again. And, I also really did love him and we were good friends. So what if I had to eat BBQ two or three times a week? And he never cared about my needs and thought I shouldn't have them. And made me feel old. He loved me (wasn't in love with me, but he loved me). And he loved my mind and I was no longer alone.

But since then, there was September man (who broke up with me, moved to Austin and became a switch!, but taught me how to connect more intensely), John in October, the kid whose nom-de-blog I can't remember in November (who wants to go out for dinner and I may actually give him one of my precious weeknights because he asks so plaintively) and Steven in January. And both John and Steven touched me deeply. Both taught me that I could be with someone who actually valued me.

Now, of course, both men broke up with me. (John would say he didn't, but I'm pretty sure he did.) But both men really respected me, and liked me. And I think both wished it would work out but saw things as they were. Steven was truly, honestly in love with me. For the first time in my life, a man fell in love with me. With me. Just the way I am. Oh, I put on a good show and hid some of my inherent fucked-up-ness. But he sort of knew. (And after we stopped pursuing a romantic thing, I shared the real fucked-up-ness, and he was beautiful about it. He actually cherished me for it and the next day I sent him the link to this (Hi Steven if you are there! Thank you for everything!)) And both were intelligent men who shared parts of themselves with me, so bright--amazing really to meet two such incredible beings. John helped me see things about myself; and he let me know I wasn't alone in this world in not having gotten over deep childhood wounds, and it is OK I haven't gotten over them completely. Steven helped me laugh, and also to like things about myself. He is wise and smart. I gave him an article I wrote, and it was the most joyous experience sharing writing I've ever had in my life. I didn't realize it, but I've fantasized about having someone like Steven in my corner for all my life.

Someday, just maybe, I might date someone whom I allowed to see this blog. Let him see my emotional sturm-und-drung and all the silly insecurities that I hide in my attempt to seem confident and attractive. Probably not for a while. But that would really be something to be that open. And also to be with someone that cared enough to actually want to know that much about me.

And so, it changes something deep inside. Part of me, deep deep down, she is beginning to believe she is worthy of love. She doesn't need to settle for someone like my ex, whom every single friend of mine attempted to dissuade me from dating. Deep down there's still a little girl singing "There's a somebody I'm longing to see. I hope that he, turns out to be, someone to watch over me." There always has been. But she didn't really see how it would work--she didn't feel like that "Prince Charming" would actually be interested in her, unless she was able to trick him with the right clothes and the right laugh. But I'm beginning to think he might actually like me if we happen to find each other. And so, I wait, hope and pray.

Being Tamed

Steven (ignore the last post--everything changed, again) said everything I’ve ever wanted to have said to me, most importantly that he wasn’t looking for a relationship, hadn’t wanted to find one, but he wanted to be with me and had to come at it from my end of things. He also thinks I’m “magnificent” and that I make him feel like he hasn’t felt for years. He actually said something like “how would we live together? There’s so much energy that we’d use it all up!” The fact that he is thinking those thoughts, and saying them outloud, is really lovely. I wasn’t sure for the first minute that we met, but then he put his arm around me and turned me towards the table to ask which seat I’d would prefer and it felt natural, like coming home.

After dinner we went for a walk in the park, and he kissed me. And kissed me. And kissed me. And for that moment, I was tamed.

I love my bouncy, bubbly energy. I love the spontaneity and joy and playfulness. But under that, and only occasionally, there is a completely different girl down there. She isn’t sophisticated or smart, or witty or clever or cynical. She doesn’t need any of those. She looks up into his eyes and knows she is safe and protected and she doesn’t need any of the skills she uses to try and survive in the world. All she needs is his arm around her, telling her she is safe.

Every time I get to that place, it surprises me, and it certainly surprised Steven—he said several times during dinner “You are the most unlikely submissive” and “are you sure you’re a submissive?” And then he knew absolutely. I know where I belong.

Steven really likes me, and I want to be careful I don’t lead him on because I need a little more time to get where he is at, but I believe I’m headed in that direction. I really enjoy his company and he can tame me and he would cherish me. I’ve never been cherished. So I really want to give this a chance. I'm excited!

And the Walls Come Tumbling Down...

If anyone actually reads this, sorry I disappeared. I gave John the URL for this blog when I had told him I couldn’t be friends, but somehow, I assumed he found it boring. But I was wrong—he did read it, although not on a regular basis, and I doubt he’s reading it now, but it makes this whole thing feel narcissistic or manipulative, or something. So in case John reads this again at a later date (hi John! ;), I can’t write about how I feel in that area. But I would expect he has cut me out of his heart. But I wasn’t sure how to proceed because I couldn’t write about how I was feeling without including him and I didn’t want to manipulate.

Steven continued to keep my interest and my energy is slowly focusing there. Our conversations were good—not the level of sharing and depth that John and I had, but sincere, intelligent with some vulnerability. Steven either has his life together more than I do, or he is less forthcoming with him vulnerability. I trust him, but I don't feel like I know him as well--he seems to be really normal and well adjusted (weird!;). Steven didn’t understand why I cared that men thought I was attractive—he felt like it was so irrelevant, but he also called me beautiful and gorgeous, and I liked that.

My ex believed I was beautiful and he loved my energy and passion and intellect. That was an incredibly gift. I realized, over the incredibly long holiday, that my family doesn’t value me as individual, just the way I am. I’m the only extrovert in the family and my psychiatrist of a father seems me as incredibly flawed when it comes to interpersonal relations. Anytime I get excited about an idea, I’ve been known to speak quickly and that is a great flaw, which makes me essentially unlovable in their eyes. Or lovable. They love me, but it is hard for them, very, very difficult to love, so I just shut down and shut up. They all have such fun around me when I don't talk or engage and just smile and ask questions. Them, I'm a girl that can be loved easily. I can’t have that level of judgment in my personal life as well. The fact that my ex liked that energy, loved it, valued it, was incredibly healing and wonderful.

But there was a missing piece. Even as he loved my intellect and passion as a friend, on another level, he didn’t value me as an individual girlfriend—just as someone to fulfill the ‘girlfriend’ spot in his life. Steven, it seemed, might be different. I was blue and he said “I wish you were chained to my bed and I could just cuddle you.” I mentioned that I hated being tied down other than sex and he said ‘OK.” And I said “wow—that’s fine? Really?” And he said “You are amazing. And I’d rather be with you, doing what makes you happy, than anything else. I need control. That’s what touches my sense of the erotic (OK, he used different words than that). Beyond that, I need for you to be joyous and fulfilled here.”

That was pretty fucking incredible. I’ve really yearned for someone that would see me as more important that the list of activities they could do with me. I think part of my inherent resistance is that sense that I need someone to be aware and concerned with how something impacts me. To care.

***

When I was in high school, I always wanted to drop acid. None of my friends would do it with me (and there was no way I’d do something like that by myself) because I was innocent. Everyone’s little sister. (I was a year younger chronologically than my grade and also pretty socially inept.) I know people were protecting me, but I would rather have fit in, belonged, been touched by the world.

Steven broke up with me today (if you can call it that) and then maybe not, but wants a week to think it over, because he wants to go to D/s while being open to a relationship and I want to establish a relationship to find D/s. Exact same fucking reason that John said he didn’t pursue me. And with both of these men, I had what I needed to consider it a fucking relationship!!! I mean, I wouldn’t wait till I was married to have sex with someone! With both men we had a level of intimacy and emotional vulnerability. It wasn’t like we met at a bar and said ‘hey—let’s fuck.’

It is like “Relationship” is such a scary word for men that they think it means much, much more than it means to me. In both instances, I would have followed where they led (provided they led in a way I could follow—not what Ken did—I tried that once, it doesn’t work. Don’t tell me what I’m in for and make me agree days in advance (yes, John tried that—I couldn’t follow—give me baby steps in the immediate moment)).

Part of me thinks I need to not communicate the way I do, but part of what I loved about both these men (John and Steven) was that I could talk openly to them both. If I start to modulate my communication, I won’t be spontaneous and open, and I don’t think I have the energy to be constantly monitoring what I say so I don’t scare someone.

I feel defective. It doesn’t matter that John and Steven both said “it isn’t that there is anything wrong with you—I just don’t work that way.” I would have met them half-way. At least. But I needed them to want to meet me halfway. Steven claims he was falling for me. Cared a great deal. Didn’t want to hurt me. Might be in love with me. He would hurt me—didn’t want to do that. But I don’t want to live in a bubble. I am willing to risk being hurt. We hadn't even had lunch; that was tomorrow!! Doesn't want to risk hurting me.

There are various issues here: are my standards unrealistic? Dan Savage would say I’m the kind of woman in demand and can write her own ticket (kinky, relatively attractive, relatively young) and the first part seems to be true, but the second part isn’t happening. It was rather nice to go to a munch on Friday and have both of the single men that arrived after me sit themselves right by me, even as the organizer tried to get them to sit at the other end of the table. But neither asked me for a phone number.

And I’m lonely. It is Saturday night and I’m home, alone. Part of it is that I’ve been sick this week, so I didn’t go out with friends to a karaoke bar because I sometimes get sick if I sing when I’m not 100%. But I’m lonely. My body aches for a man’s touch. These men keep brushing against my soul and leaving. But they leave these traces and touches. I don’t know what I wrong with me. Maybe my family is right and I’m just not lovable the way I am in the way I want to be. I am aware with Steven, it is the rejection that hurts more than losing him. I didn’t fall for Steven as badly as John and I’ll get over him quicker, but I just don’t feel strong enough to keep putting myself out there, over and over and over and rejected and rejected and rejected.

The Salchow

I started skating too old to ever be good at it, but young enough to think I might be OK and be thrilled by the ride.

For a year, I whizzed through things at a speed that dazzled me. Stroking. Cross-overs. Back crossovers. Mohawks. 3 turns. Two-foot spin. One-foot spin. Waltz jump. Shoot the duck. Patch (in the old day, we did figure 8s for 45 minutes at a time). Salchow.

I never did the salchow. The salchow wrecked ice-skating for me. I spent 6 months miserable about my inability to do a salchow; where I had once seen achievement, now I just saw failure.

In order to do a salchow, you start with a 3 turn (which is a sudden half turn--you are going one way on the ice and all of sudden your blade makes a little 3 and turns itself the other way while you are still in the same position, headed the same direction--it makes a 3 (on its side) on the ice). Normally, you'd check the rotation so that you stopped spinning, but with a salchow, you don't--you let your body start to spin in a somewhat uncontrolled fashion. Then you take you use that momentum to hurl yourself up and over the standing foot, doing a full turn onto the free leg. (Someone has a better description.)

If you ask me, I can do this jump on land. No problem. Easy. I can explain the physics of it. I know how it works. I can feel the 3-turn and I can feel the jump out of the 3-turn in my bones. What I can't do is this damn jump.

You have a fraction of a second to do this jump. You have to do the timing correctly. If you hesitate, you've lost that 3-turn and have to start over again.

You cannot talk yourself into it. Your brain will never get you there. Your muscles have to trust it. Crave it. You cannot have fear and successfully land it. The problem is, without having landed it, your muscles clench because they don't know it is safe. All day long, your muscles keep you safe. As you start to slip in the rain, they so "no--let's keep you right up." That muscle-memory makes it possible to do so much without having to think about it. Anti-skid brakes for our lives. It is an amazing system. But I can't turn it off. I can force myself to do the 3-turn a hundred times in an afternoon. I can force myself to release rotation and spin. I can let go of that much control. But I can't get that final piece. I've tried.

There are 2 ways I could actually do the salchow. I landed one once, when I was at a friend's wedding and I was drunk. The alcohol 'inhibited my inhibitions' as someone might say. But I don't want to be using alcohol like that too much (and it isn't practical--ice-skating rinks don't serve or allow alcohol, except at private parties). Or I could learn pair's skating and have a man throw me into the jump. Practically speaking, I doubt seriously that any coach would encourage a pair to do a throw salchow when the lady couldn't land it on her own. But that very much appeals to me.

I hope that this doesn't remain a metaphor for my erotic life and I can learn the pair jump that I could never do on my own.

Addicted to Dating?

There is an energy going on in my life right now that I don't like to admit. I seem to be slightly addicted to the attention I'm getting from men. I was at a vanilla party tonight and several guys flirted with me. (Cute, professional, sweet guys!) I doubt I'd go out with a vanilla guy because 'that conversation' is just way too overwhelming to me. But I am addicted to men's attention and approval, even when I'm not interested in them.

It isn't addicted in an extreme sense of the word--I'm not going to have a 'girls-gone-wild' moment. But there is a strong sense that I need that attention. I like the fact that I seem to always have at least one man who is interested in me, and I miss him (whoever "he" is at any given moment) when he isn't there. But, truth to tell, since John they've all been rather interchangeable.

Steven didn't e-mail me from 12:59 pm yesterday until 6:32 pm today. Why that is 29 hours! Intellectually, I think 'well, he has a life. Duh, and good for him.' I wouldn't want someone with no life, but, well, I missed him. I missed the validation as well as the terrific conversations we've been having. And, when I saw he'd been on the CollarMe, where we met, twice today without e-mailing me, I started to get rather nervous about the entire thing, re-read e-mails to see if I'd said something wrong, replay phone conversations in my head. Really rather neurotic.

But Steven is the current in a long line of men that have been unable to truly capture me (and, truth to be told, several of them haven't been interested enough to capture me--I'm kindof high maintenance in my own unique way--I don't like fancy meals, but I want to know the depths of a man's soul, which means he doesn't only have to visited it, he has to communicate it!), and yet their energy is necessary to how I currently live my life. I wouldn't want to not have the attention because I thrive off of it. I was even glad that the ex tried, rather clumsily, to get me in bed last week.

I'm not sure if this is really unhealthy, or if it is a little healthy. The unhealthy side seems to be a need for energy that I can't fulfill myself. I'm relying on something I'm getting from others. I need external validation.

At the same time, we all live in various stages of relatedness. We need that relatedness. Maybe it is just healthy that I'm finally admitting I want to have connectedness with others. I am vulnerable and I'm comfortable with the fact that I'm not fully self sufficient.

Meanwhile, I'm having dinner with John tomorrow--and I'm rather nervous about that. I don't know how to be with him as a friend and not wish it could be more. How to not have it cut away at my self-esteem and confidence and just quietly erode my sense of self. I want to try. I value so much about him, but if I have to pick one of the two of us, I'll have to pick me. I think, ultimately, we could maybe be a 'let's-get-together-once-ever-couple-of-months' friends--but I can't have those searing, soul connected, intimate conversations I've had in the past. The fact that he didn't want me enough to persue me rings through our encounters and undercuts the joy.

June to September

So an older man is wooing me---17 years older. I have graciously blown off dozens of men that age, but this one is different.

Most of the older men attempt to seduce me with money. I've literally had men offer to pay my mortgage, or hints of expensive meals, clothes, whatever. I'm not a call girl, and have no intention of being anyone's mistress, however graciously it is shaded. I have a 'sugar daddy' (who shares half my DNA), who paid for my undergrad tuition and helped me get grants for grad school. Having been already bought by daddy, I am so uninterested in being resold at a lower price, however good the loot is.

This man, let's call him Steven, came at me through my weakness--he actually started reading much of what I've written, responding, offering bits of himself and his own vulnerablity. The youth (what little I have left of it)-money tradeoff would never work. But youth for wisdom, for insight, for understanding, sharing, recognition and maybe some great sex thrown in down the road, that is a rather heady possiblity. Secretly, I sometimes sing "Someone to watch over me" in the shower. And "The Man I Love." "I'm a little lamb whose lost in the wood. I know I could, always be good, to one who'll watch over me."

Of course it is all internet right now. He has a ton of office parties, as do I, but I'd gladly make time to grab a drink--he wants to wait till January, which I don't like. Again, it is those searing internet conversations that dabble around hopes, vulnerabilities, fears and wishes. We haven't had the level of vulnerability that John and I shared, but John wasn't as wise, and didn't guide the process. (John will be amazing when he's Steven's age--wow! I hope I can find a way to have him in my life in a way that is healthy and not just numbing me out and making me feel rejected. Doubtful, but more likely if I meet someone else, and I'm willing to try.) I don't know how many times I can bare my soul to a stranger, have it not work, pick up the pieces and not try to armor myself more effectively for the future. And, of course, that armor is what makes me unattractive. But the process of going forth without it terrifies me.

My biggest fear about the age thing is that I would really love to find someone to grow old with. I can't imagine that any man would be interested in me when I'm in my 60s. I don't want to start over then. And yet, I know that is an unknown. I may die before then. If Steven can match me, maybe even guide me, it might be worth risking. Who knows who I might become with someone to watch over me?

Date Rape

Every communication textbook in the country says something like "Where there is a conflict between verbal and non-verbal communication, humans trust the non-verbal." You know it is true. Someone says "Oh. Great to see you" and the way they say it is all that matters.

And yet, there are young men in prison for trusting non-verbal communication instead of verbal communication. "No means no" intone posters, counselors and just about everyone who is asked. And a firm clear "No" does mean "no."

But what about "no" with a giggle, a laugh, a smile, a blush, a slow and meaningful downward cast, a biting of the lower lip, or an inching of the body closer? What about "Oh, I don't think we should do this?" with a laugh and an subtle arching of the back to raise the breasts just a little bit closer? What does that mean?

We may want to have a model where men must get consent rather than an absence of dissent, but I'd sure hate that. I can't stand it when men ask permission to kiss me! Trust my body language. Trust me to articulate what I need, but lead this dance, please! But in today's environment, a man would be a fool to take that stance trustingly.

The current view on date rape actually disempowers women, because it makes us helpless. 95% of all men (I actually believe higher) would never want to force a woman to have sex, without her acquiescence. But, there are women who do want to be led. "Bodice Rippers" is a very popular romance genre. There are women who don't want responsiblity for their desires. And frankly, given how totally fucked up our society is about women's sexuality, there are quite a few women who do give mixed signals.

Women are socialized to be polite, charming and gracious. We are sent unbelievable mixed signals--something along the lines of "you aren't lovable if you are beautiful. Only a man can determine whether you are beautiful, and he'll prove it by wanting to sleep with you. So if you aren't having sex (or enough sex), you probably aren't beautiful or lovable and you are a failure as a woman. But if you are having sex (or too much sex), you are a slut, and practically a whore and have no worth but your sexuality, which is so cheap it ain't worth much anyway. So it is no wonder women send such mixed signals.

In the face of this confusing mess, we need more conversation, more respectful dialogue. A century ago (more or less), Tolstoy, Ibsen, Strindberg, DH Lawrence and the Brontes were all trying to figure out how the hell we can navigate relationships with women being partners. Today, we have almost no dialogue. We know the models don't work for us, but we're too scared to talk openly about what might work.

Over a year ago, I came close to being a victim of date rape. I met a guy I couldn't stand. I really didn't believe we had any chemistry whatsoever--he'd spent 20 minutes lecturing me on how global warming wasn't happening and the next 20 minutes about how Paul Krugman didn't really understand economics. When he took of his jacket he had a t-shirt on that I found deeply offensive.

He suggested we go to his place to watch a movie. I said "I don't think that's a good idea" and 3 times he promised he would be a "perfect gentleman." Worried someone from work might see me with his t-shirt, and trusting that there was no chemistry, it seemed a polite way out of the evening. Careful to not give a non-verbal opening, I sat on the edge of the couch, as far away from him as possible with a rigidly straight back, with my legs crossed away from him and my arms folded in my lap.

Needless to say, he and I had different ideas as to how a 'perfect getleman' behaves. I don't need to give the details--you've heard them a hundred times. But after fending him off for a moment, I took a step back to try to figure out what the hell was going on and I realized, I was apologizing! "I'm sorry, but...," "I don't think...." "This doesn't seem..." What the hell? I didn't want to be rude! I was taught to be polite. Always. Gracious and warm and ingratiating.

Once I realized what I was doing, I shoved him off me, stood up, got my coat and left. Now, I would never go out with that twit again. Even if I'd been remotely interested, I cannot forgive a man who makes me be rude to him. But once I sent a very clear message that "No, I'm leaving" it immediately stopped. I don't believe his behavior that evening was acceptable, but I also don't believe it should be something that results in years in prison and a life-time label of 'sex offender.'

So Conservative in Private!

I'm a raving liberal in public. I mean really liberal.

So why the hell am I so conservative, in some ways, in my private life? I have never done the casual sex thing. Not once. I've tried to get myself there, but I just can't do it. It feels like it would mortally damage my integrity or numb my soul or something. Which is rather bizarre, because I really don't think there is anything wrong with it. No--it is more than that, I want a fling. I mean, I'd really like a serious relationship, but I don't see one on the horizon. And being fucked to fabulous depths actually makes me a hell of a lot more attractive, and more men show up.

Every single time I've had a purely sexual reaction to someone, I've run away from it.

There was a man in college who I think had some pretty kinky tendencies, and I still regret not getting involved with him. But I couldn't do it.

I think, somehow or other, I picked up that entire 'Madonna/Whore' complex. Different because I'm only interested in having a serious relationship that has amazing sex, but I still want to be the 'good girl,' who doesn't sleep around. Just have amazing sex without promiscuity.

And here I am with Ben and Mike. Ben says it could be ltr, but he wants to establish the D/s dynamic before we do any more vanilla stuff. Mike desperately wants an LTR, offered to introduce me to his family this weekend, wants to meet my sister, and we still haven't kissed! And here I am saying, OK--I'm going to do my damnedest to follow these through and see where it leads. (I have not mislead either guy--I wouldn't lie!)

But I can't sleep at night. I lie in bed and my mind races, because first I get excited about the possiblities with Ben and then I start to freak out. And we can't even get together till December because of family obligations over the holidays. But my gut feeling is that I can't surrender to Ben without giving him far more of my heart than he wants to take responsiblity for. I'm going to try, but I've never pulled that one off.

Seduction in a Feminist, Patriarchal and Aware Society

I sometimes wonder if I really am a feminist, or if I'd better be labeled a humanist. We live in a society that is still patriarchal in many ways, but there are places where the feminist movement has over-reached in ways that are unfair. Specifically, I believe we need to have more honest discussions about sex, seduction, date rape and alimony. I'll deal with the other two later, but let's look at seduction.

I would not want to be a young man today, or frankly, a young woman. Men are not being allowed proper outlet for seductive energy. I do believe the "Antioch" rules were overblown by a conservative backlash. (Antioch has a code that explicit permission must be ascertained before any increase in physical intimacy in pursued by a person. However, Antioch has been quite reasonable in implementation--it is important to note that if both parties are implementing an increase intimacy, then no explicit permission need be given.) That said, seduction is being criminalized at the same time a preschooler is charged with inappropriately touching a staff member. The simple fact is, some men are lacking in social skills and don't know how to read body language, and many women send mixed signals (hardly surprising in a society that tells women they are only as valuable as their physical looks and the only way to prove that is for men to want to sleep with them, and if they aren't having sex, they must be really ugly, but if they are it is because they are total sluts with no morals).

But in trying to deal with the men who are not developmentally mature enough (or will always be clueless) we are not allowing the dance of seduction to occur. Every single one of my vanilla girlfriends wants a man that will grab her hair and take her. (Oh, and for the record gentlemen, the correct way to grab a woman's hair is NOT like a ponytail--run your hand up her scalp then curl each finger individually so that you have a little hair in each finger, then pull your fingers into a fist, but not too tight--don't break our hair! It is many of ours best feature!!) Only when we are fine with it. Only after we have decided we want it. But we all have that same, primal, desire. Men asking permission to kiss us? No! NO! NO!!! Not sexy. Get our permission from our body language. Accidentally brush up against our hands. Notice if we lean in towards you or away. If our hand is on the arm rest in a movie, chances are we are fine holding hands. If our arms are crossed over our chest and we've crossed our legs away from you--we aren't interested.

But don't reduce the dance of seduction to a contract negotiation:
"Pardon me--could I lean in two inches closer to you?"
"Why yes, but only if you don't mind if I hold eye contact a second longer than is normal."
"Well, that would be fine as long as I can accidentally touch your hand when I'm walking by."
"That's doable, as long as I can laugh a little longer at your joke."
"OK--but then I'm going to hold your eye contact for three seconds, smile, and nod like I know what you are thinking."
"Alright, but only if I can realize you know what I'm thinking, blush, look down, get over it, and look back in your eyes with a little more presence."

It's beautiful and elegant and delicious and makes a gal's toes curl. And fewer and fewer men trust their instincts to do it. In part because of all the mixed signals going on right now. But in part because all the fear about sexual harassment is telling men they can't trust their instincts. That they are predators and that is bad and they need to be nice, thoughtful, men who never take the lead. Maybe we need to go back to teaching everyone ballroom dancing--at least then there was a parameter for negotiating the dance of seduction.

Dominance & Surrender

I had a pang of regret stuck in traffic yesterday. In many ways, I am doing with Ben what I couldn't do with John. My inability to do it with John may be why we couldn't work. Why, oh why? I care about John much more than I think I will care about Ben, and even if Ben and I work on a sexual level, we would not have the emotional intimacy that John and I exuded in every interaction.

But I realized--John never dominated me. John would say "I'm going to whip you this week" and I'd say "Oh! Too fast" and then he'd pull away. He wouldn't talk me through my hesitation, he wouldn't guide or convince or insist. He suggested, and if I couldn't go along with the suggestion, he relented (although I think he resented it). No cajoling. No looking in my eyes and saying "baby--you know this is right. You need to give yourself to me." I wish I could have given John that without needing reassurance, without needing to be dominated, without needing, on some level, to not have a choice in the matter. I think, ultimately, John wasn't really into the D/s--just the SM, and I swim in the D/s waters. SM is just a way of exploring the D/s.

Ben, on the other hand, hasn't worked to have any intimacy on an emotional level. We haven't talked about our families, our hurts, our vulnerabilities. He doesn't know where my insecurities are, or where I've been hurt or what I want to be when I grow up, or that I still don't think of myself as grown up. None of that. But he looks in my eyes and says "you know you will give yourself to me" and I do. I so wish I could have it all, but maybe the universe doesn't work that way.

Can't We Just Be Friends?

This week, the trickle of men wanting my friendship has become a deluge:

• My ex
• A guy I went out with twice that I'm not attracted to (but wish I were)
• A guy I went out with twice that isn't that attracted to me (but I think wishes he was)
• A guy I went out with once, 2 years ago, who made me feel really shitty about myself, but claims it was all him and can't we be friends?
• A married guy, a ferry ride away, that wanted me to be his mistress, but when I said no way, wants to be friends;
• A guy from Asheville NC
• A guy from Egypt

I can't do it. I don't understand how people make a friendship between a single, straight guy and a single straight gal work. I have gay friends that I adore, but that is different. With all the rest, there is an unspoken rejection on one side or the other.

Harry (in When Harry Met Sally) said something like "Men and women can't be friends because the sex thing always messes it up." And I agree.

All of this is underscored by Edmund. I knew Edmund in college. During my first year, he lived one hall over from me, and walked through my hall to get to the dining hall. Somehow or other, we became friends, and I thought he was was flirting with me here and there. Edmund was my height, incredibly thin and had a receding hair line. But he had sparkling, laughing eyes, clean energy and deep wisdom. I actually remember wishing I could fall for a guy like Edmund because he was, pretty clearly, 'in my league' so to speak. Be careful what you wish for.

Throughout college we were friends, but nothing more. After college, he moved to Seattle, and the following year, I did too (not for him--although it didn't hurt he was there). We became the very best of friends. We did everything together--hanging out at least 3 nights a week, watching Star Trek, talking on the phone every night before bed. And I fell for him; but he wasn't romantically interested in me. He would put his arm around me, run his fingers through my hair, kiss me on the eyes, and I would snuggle up next to him in a movie; but he 'didn't feel that way' about me. We shared our hopes, dreams and insecurities. He would spend hours (literally) on the phone, explaining how painful it was to him that 'no woman was romantically interested in him.' I guessed that I, somehow-or-other, just didn't qualify as a woman, in his eyes.

Finally, I literally broke up with him. I confronted him about whether he knew I was romantically interested (and he confirmed he did), asked what the hell he meant when he said no woman was interested in him, and told him I couldn't be his friend. That was 1998. He hadn't had a girlfriend since, when I saw him is 2005. I wonder if he is trying to find his way out of a very deep closet; clearly something is wrong because he would make someone very happy, should he ever figure out what the hell he wants. But I know what I want and a co-dependent, platonic, friendship with a man that sucks out all my romantic energy (not to mention my self-esteem) just isn't it.

All of this convinced me that friendships between straight men and women is something close to emotional cancer, to be avoided at all costs. I have to wonder if the universe is trying to teach me something here, but I don't see a way through this. I'm going to try and see if I can be a distant friend with my ex--I saw him this week and have no emotional stickiness towards him. I couldn't imagine getting back with him. But he feels stuck--he isn't growing, isn't deepening. I don't really see where the energy would come from his friendship. But I also feel like I owe him a little--not a lot, but he was an important part of my life and so if I can do coffee once a month without emotional blowback to me, I do want to do that.

But the rest--I don't know a way through this one. Part of it is my time. Some guy in Egypt or Asheville--I have no emotional stickiness there, but I have real friends, that I've been friends with for decades, and they rank higher.

The one that really matters, of course, is John; I'm attracted to him and I don't think he's all that attracted to me on a sexual level, otherwise, I think he'd try to find a way to make it work. But he does want friendship and I could see our friendship being SO illuminating and rich and enlightening and smart and fun. I kept going deeper and deeper into who I am and what makes me tick with him. In a little less than a month, he and I went deeper than all my therapists ever have. You can easily guess when he and I stopped corresponding simply by looking at the frequency of my posting here. And yet it feels like Edmund all over again. He would take the energy that I need if I'm going to find a partner, and I would be constantly questioning what was wrong with me that he wasn't attracted to me that way, and we'd flirt a little and I'd wonder what the hell it meant and try to believe if I just did something right, he'd finally be interested. I'd put my life on hold, waiting for him, and then I'd grow to hate him for it. John is going to make some woman incredibly happy, and I would watch from the sidelines and feel like my heart had been torn out and all my fire had been replaced with ice as I grew slowly numb. I can't put myself through that slow, inexorable rejection again, and I don't see another way out of it even as I miss him with every cell in my body.

I don't think anyone actually reads this blog, but if you do, and if you have made friendships work with single people of the gender to which you are attracted, I'd love to hear about it in the comments.